


Sweater Weather

by ArgentLives



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentLives/pseuds/ArgentLives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have no idea how much this girl talks about you, Cora,” Allison laughs, nudging Lydia, “I have to hear her gush about you like, every time we hangout, since the second you guys started rooming together. And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” she adds somewhat accusingly, swatting Lydia on the arm, but her expression is genuinely pleased.</p><p>Lydia makes no move to deny this, or to correct Allison, to tell her that no, they’re not /actually/ together. She just stands there, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment, and this time it’s Cora’s turn to stare at her in shock, because she doesn’t think she’s ever seen Lydia this flustered before, and she’s /definitely/ never seen her blush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luckyhack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckyhack/gifts).



> Basically just an excuse for lots of fluff and mutual pining; Sorry about the super-cheesiness (I can't help it), but I hope you enjoy!! Happy Holidays! :)
> 
> (Also thanks kenfaidar for beta-ing this for me!)

“Guess what time it is?”                            

Lydia announces in a sing-song voice, flipping on the light switch as she waltzes into the room and deposits herself on the corner of Cora’s bed, so close they’re nearly touching.

Cora squints at her through eyes narrowed in exhaustion and annoyance, at the vivacious red-head who’s grinning at her like she knows exactly how much Cora wants to strangle her in this moment and just doesn’t really give a shit, eyes bright and full of excitement. Cora groans and pulls the covers up over her head in a vain attempt to block out the light, and when she speaks her voice is muffled and irritated.

“Time for you to let me go the fuck back to sleep.”

“Wrong! It’s time for _you_ to get the fuck up. Rise and shine, sweetheart— it’s time to start getting ready for that ugly-sweater Christmas party you said you’d come with me to. And before you try to back out, remember that you _promised_. And you know I don’t appreciate it when you go back on your promises.”

“Yeah, I know,” Cora practically growls—the memory of the last time she had grudgingly promised (or, more accurately, had been forced to promise) that she would accompany Lydia to the mall after she got out of class a few weeks ago not far off in her mind. Lydia had been so angry at her for bailing that she hadn’t spoken to her for…well, she had angrily proclaimed that she wasn’t going to speak to her all week, but in reality she hadn’t lasted more than a day before they were back to their usual banter. Although she _had_ gone out of her way to refuse to let the matter go, dredging it up in every you-owe-me argument they’d had since then.

“But do I really have to? I just had my last final today, and I honestly just want to sleep for…for the rest of my life. I have no energy left. Like literally none. And I don’t even _own_ any ugly sweaters to wear to this thing, anyway.”

Lydia quirks an eyebrow at her, and Cora watches as her gaze flickers briefly to her messy wardrobe, with its drawers stuffed full, pant legs and shirt sleeves hanging out over the sides.

“Um, Cora, please— I’ve seen some of the stuff you wear. So yes, you do.”

Cora doesn’t even have time to look properly offended before Lydia plows on.

“And yes, you have to come. You are not getting out of it this time, Cora Hale. I had my final exam in my Advanced Differential Equations class today and I’m still doing fine—you’ll live too. Stop being so dramatic. Besides, everyone is going to be there. It’ll be fun. Which I know is a word you like to pretend you want nothing to with, but we both know that’s not true.”

Cora grumbles something incoherent and levels Lydia with one of her signature glares, but Lydia can see that her heart’s not really in it in and can tell from the look in her eyes that she’s already won this battle.

“You owe me. So much. Like, you’re-taking-me-out-to-coffee-everyday-for-the-rest-of-the-week much.”

“Oh, please. Spare me the pouting—I know you’re excited. But fine, if you insist.”

“Good. And I am _not_ excited.”

She has to fight the smile that’s trying to find its way to her lips and force the fondness out of her voice when she replies because _fuck_ , she’s such a softie when comes to Lydia Martin. Also, she maybe kind of _is_ a little tiny bit excited— mostly because yeah, she could really use a drink right now— but she’d rather re-take all her finals than admit that Lydia is right to her face. Plus, she’s got a reputation to uphold.

Cora can feel the bed moving under Lydia’s weight as she bounces up and down in excitement, once, twice, and then claps her hands together and grins ear-to-ear. The way she’s looking at her, as though she can see right through her bad attitude and as if her coming along really _means_ something to her, makes shivers run up Cora’s spine.

There’s a reason she can’t stand it when Lydia is this close to her, and it’s not because of her usual aversion to physical contact, or her need personal space. It’s because when it comes to Lydia, she likes it too much, the way it makes her skin flush, her heart beat speed up in her chest and her body feel hot all over. That sort of feeling scares her.

“Well then, we better start getting ready. Come on, I’ll fix your hair up and everything.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Cora asks, doing her best to sound as petulant as possible, even though she knows perfectly well that she’s probably got an awful case of bed-head, (and her bed-head is _really_ bad), and although she can’t see it, her hair is likely a tangled mess.

Lydia doesn’t even respond, just raises an eyebrow, and Cora takes advantage of the excuse to shove her off the bed. She’s unable to contain the laugh that bubbles up in her chest at the surprised look in Lydia’s eyes and the ridiculous little ‘o’ of her mouth as she falls to the ground with a loud _thump_.

“You are _so_ going to pay for that!” Lydia glowers as she gets to her feet and tries to look threatening (which, for Lydia, actually isn’t a difficult task), but then she’s smiling, too. She rolls her eyes at Cora, who’s now clutching her side in laughter, and snatches a pillow from her own bed on the other side of the room.

“Okay then, asshole— just get out of bed already!” she says with a laugh of her own as she lobs the pillow at Cora’s head.

And she does.

 

Later, after they’ve stopped whacking each other with pillows and tackling each other to the ground, (to Cora’s horror, as Lydia has her pinned to the floor and squirming to get out from underneath her, she discovers that she’s quite tragically ticklish), Lydia is absentmindedly combing her fingers through Cora’s hair and humming “It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas”.

It feels really, really good, and Cora’s certainly not complaining, but the party starts in less than 30 minutes and they’ve spent the better part of the past two hours goofing off, and Lydia seems to have zoned out a bit—they’ve been sitting like this, with Cora’s back pressed up against her legs as Lydia goes to work on her hair, humming absentmindedly and muttering things under her breath as she tries to decide what style would look best, for at least ten minutes now.

“Uh, Lydia, I hate to interrupt but we’re kind of running low on time, here. I’m sure whatever you do will look fine.”

“Hmmm, did you say something?” Lydia asks, knitting her eyebrows together and blinking, fingers stilling in Cora’s hair, as Cora’s voice pulls her attention into focus.

Cora repeats herself, laughing at the intensity with which her friend is treating her stylistic task, and Lydia gives her hair a sharp tug.

“Oww, what was that for?” she says in indignation, twisting her head around and looking over her shoulder just in time to catch Lydia smirking at her.

“Look who’s all concerned about getting to this thing on time, now. I thought you didn’t even want to go, you big hypocrite.”

Her grin grows even wider as Cora splutters, tripping over her words as she tries to come up with an excuse.

“That’s not…I’m not---I _don’t_ —“

Lydia laughs and turns her attention back to carding her fingers through Cora’s hair.

“Oh, be quiet already, and turn back around. I know the perfect hairstyle—it won’t take long. And we’ll get there when we get there. Everyone knows it’s best to turn up stylishly late to a college party.”

Cora shakes her head, but complies, and when Lydia starts humming the tune to “All I Want for Christmas Is You”, she can’t help but join in with a smile that's so big she's glad Lydia can't see her face—she'd never let her hear the end of it.

 

After plaiting Cora’s hair into a single, elegant braid, and—after much dispute on Cora’s part— tying a ribbon around head in place of a headband and finishing it off with a big, red bow (“Oh, lighten up—it’s _festive_!”), Lydia hops up and excuses herself to the bathroom, ignoring Cora’s continued protests that _they’re going to be_ so _late._

Cora stands by the door, tapping her foot impatiently, until finally Lydia emerges from the bathroom, her hair in loose curls all pushed to one side and cascading over her shoulder, clad in a sweater five sizes too large complete with tacky designs of embroidered snowmen, reindeer, Christmas trees, and seemingly every other single holiday-related thing known to man—including, Cora realizes with horror, little bells that jingle when she moves.

“So, what do you think?” Lydia asks with a grin, spinning around to model her whole ensemble, and Cora notes that _oh my god_ — the hideous designs are on the back of the sweater, too.

And yet, even despite the sweater, even with all of its tackiness and the fact that it’s far too big and really should not be flattering at all, has absolutely _no business_ being flattering, somehow it is—somehow, Cora thinks to herself, Lydia still manages to look just as fucking beautiful as ever, and Cora finds herself torn between jealousy and, more notably, the familiar ache that settles into her chest whenever it hits her just how much she wants to take Lydia’s face in her hands and kiss her senseless.

“Well, you certainly took the whole ‘ugly' part of the 'ugly Christmas sweater’ thing very seriously,” she says instead, instantly furious with her thoughts for being so goddamn sappy.

Lydia rolls her eyes at her, and Cora tells herself she must be imagining the way her face seems to fall for half a second before she’s smiling again.

“Well, duh. That's the point. And you know I’d never settle for less than my best.”

She brushes past Cora, patting her shoulder along the way, and Cora’s left feeling flustered and confused, as per usual when it comes to anything involving her feelings for Lydia.

She shakes her head and follows Lydia out of their room, closing the door behind her and resigning herself to the fact that this is probably going to be a very long night.

 

“Oh, my God, Cora—get in front of me, quick!”

“What…?” Cora blinks, confused at the sudden urgency in her tone, the sudden horror dawning in Lydia’s eyes as she ducks behind her, crouching down and peering around her side.

They’ve been here for a little over an hour now, and Cora is enjoying herself far more than she’d like to admit.

Mostly because, well, she’s a happy drunk, and she’s well on her way there, and even more so because even though Lydia is usually a social butterfly, even though she probably knows every single person at this party, she hasn’t left Cora’s side once since they’ve gotten here.

So she’s understandably confused when Lydia goes from smiling widely and chatting animatedly with her and Scott and Allison, the sickeningly cute couple that Lydia was, of course, friends with and had introduced Cora to, whose company she’s found herself genuinely enjoying, to looking so distraught and attempting (quite unsuccessfully) to hide behind her.

“It’s my ex—Jackson, you know, the one I told you about. He’s been texting me ever since I broke with him, and like, _he won’t let it go_ ,” she groans. “I didn’t know he would be here!”

Cora understands at once—so _this_ is the super-douche that Lydia told her about ages ago, one of the many nights they had been sitting up late in their dorm talking and had somehow broached the topic of each other’s much-regretted relationships. She directs her attention forward, sees the guy approaching, and instantly dislikes him.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is,” Jackson says with a smirk when he finally reaches them, “fancy seeing you here, Martin.”

Lydia sighs and stands up, comes out from behind Cora and stands as tall as her 5’ 3” will allow, squaring her shoulders and leveling Jackson with a glare.

“Jackson,” she glowers, her voice steely, “what do you want?”

“Just wondering whether you finally realized what a huge mistake you made breaking up with the best thing that ever happened to you, and if you were ready to come crawling back to me yet. We both know you will, just like you always do,” he says, still smirking, and Cora finds herself seething, dully registers that her hands are shaking, and she’s bursting with the urge to wipe that stupid, arrogant grin off his face.

“Look, asshole. Back off,” she hisses through her teeth. “I promise you she’s _really_ not interested.”

Jackson just raises his eyebrows, as if to say _‘what makes you so sure’_ and refuses to budge. Cora feels someone squeeze her arm, turns to see Lydia shoot her a pleading look, one that’s clearly saying ‘ _please make him leave._ ’

She can tell this guy isn’t going to back off easy, so she takes a deep breath and blurts out the first thing that comes to her mind, immediately horrified with herself the second the words leave her mouth.

“Because we’re dating. I mean, me and Lydia. Are…are dating. We’re together. So she’s not getting back together with you any time soon— as if she’d ever want to anyway,” and even though she can feel Lydia staring at her, can feel the weight of her questioning gaze, she forces herself to move so that she’s standing in front of her, between her and Jackson, and gives him the dirtiest, meanest look she can muster (which, lucky for her, comes pretty naturally).

She feels a hand on her shoulder, and doesn’t hesitate to turn her back on the guy still standing in front of her, sparing him one last brutal glare and pleasantly noting that he’s no longer smirking, that he looks as though someone has slapped him hard across the face—which is something that Cora has very narrowly restrained herself from doing. And then she’s facing Lydia, who’s looking at her with wide, inquiring eyes.

Cora can sense the moment when Jackson skitters away, finally takes the hint that it’s time for him to get the hell out, but she squeezes her eyes shut and asks anyway, more to put off the moment when she’ll have to discuss what just she's just said with Lydia than anything.

“Yeah, he’s gone. I think you scared him away. He seemed to find you intimidating,” Lydia says, and her voice is full of relief, and even a touch of amusement— “I can’t imagine why,” she adds sarcastically.

Cora opens her eyes and stares at Lydia, searching, because she expected her to be mad at her on-the-spot excuse, or confused, or _something_. But she’s just smiling—and the worry Cora feels coursing through her lessens a tiny bit.

“Hey, it’s what I do,” she responds, and forces herself to smile back, even though she’s still burning with anger over the whole encounter.

And then Lydia squeezes her hand and her smile grows even wider, and her _‘Thank you’_ is enough to make the rest of Cora’s frustration melt away.

“Hey, congratulations, Lydia— I’m so happy for you guys!” Allison’s voice cuts in, and Cora is forcibly reminded that she and Lydia are not actually alone.

Allison beams at the two of them, looking back and forth from one to the other, until finally her gaze lands on Cora, and she addresses her delightedly.

“You have no idea how much this girl talks about you, Cora,” Allison laughs, nudging Lydia, “I have to hear her gush about you like, every time we hangout, since the second you guys started rooming together. And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” she adds somewhat accusingly, swatting Lydia on the arm, but her expression is genuinely pleased.

Lydia makes no move to deny this, or to correct Allison, to tell her that no, they’re not _actually_ together. She just stands there, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment, and this time it’s Cora’s turn to stare at her in shock, because she doesn’t think she’s ever seen Lydia this flustered before, and she’s _definitely_ never seen her blush.

Without meeting Cora’s eyes, Lydia grabs her hand and mumbles something about having to go, and Cora barely has time to wave goodbye to Scott and Allison before Lydia is dragging her away, pulling her towards the door.

She doesn’t ask where Lydia is taking her, just assumes she wants to leave and go back to their dorm, but when they finally reach the door, she stops abruptly in the doorway—which is festively decorated with Christmas lights, and, Cora realizes with a start as she follows Lydia’s gaze upward, mistletoe. Then, taking her by surprise, Lydia pulls Cora toward her so that they’re facing each other, and _very_ close.

“Well, would you look at that,” Lydia hums innocently, finally directing her attention back to her, her gaze trailing from Cora’s eyes and resting on her lips. Her eyes are bright and eager as she points to the mistletoe that’s hanging above their heads, as though she's only just realized it's there. “Guess we have no choice, huh?”

Cora grins back at her, quickly catching on and feeling her heart speed up in anticipation, and when Lydia closes the small space between them, she wraps her arms around her and responds so enthusiastically she nearly lifts Lydia off her feet. And it’s really, really good—actually, it’s _more_ than good, it’s excellent, it’s what they’ve _both_ been daydreaming about for months now.

Cora feels warm all over, and when they finally break apart, it’s like that dull ache that settles in her chest whenever she looks at Lydia, or when Lydia’s fingers brush against hers, or whenever she's even in the same proximity, has increased ten-fold and then exploded into a million little pieces. Because now that she knows what it feels like to be this close to Lydia Martin, she never wants to _stop_ being this close to her.

With that it mind, it only takes a few seconds of careful consideration before she gathers up all her courage and asks the question that’s been on her mind for ages, but that never thought she could—until tonight, at least.

“Lydia, I’ve wanted to ask you this for a really long time, but I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same way and—stop grinning at me like that. Yes, okay, I admitted I was scared of something, stop looking so smug, it _won’t_ happen again. Anyway, that doesn’t matter anymore, what I meant to say is… well, do you want to go out with me? Like, on an actual date? I—”

Lydia cuts her off with another kiss, one that’s just as wonderful as the first, and this time she doesn’t pull away. Cora feels Lydia’s lips curl into a playful smile against her own, and her breath tickles her cheek when she responds.

“Of course. But haven’t you heard? We’re already dating.”

 


End file.
